My life in a big road trip around the UK

I took the train to the first city. I walked wide streets with Georgian architecture, and past a square with lions I found an alley behind the wide streets, and there was a bar. Downstairs, pretty-boys and fag-hags bitched and drank, upstairs there were beat-up leather sofas and a pool table. Around the pool table track-suited lasses and boys in tight jeans shot pool and joked and made eyes and I sat with my drink and leaned over the balcony at the bar below, and dropped ice cubes down cleavage before being led to a nightclub. Upstairs at the nightclub, I met a girl who said she'd always wanted to sleep with women; she took me on a bus to her place and in the morning as I showered I realised there was a tiny kitten asleep in the laundry basket.

So I took the bus to the next city. The city was old and there were no pool tables in the bar. I drank cider then alcopop then spirits then Czech lager and eventually, I made friends, and we danced in dark pit and fucked in the toilet cubicles until they stopped letting me in the place.

I drove my car to the next city. There were many bars and the bars were all on one street or around a newly built square; I knew the best places to go but I knew no-one there. I spoke to sailors and office workers, accountants and pilots but I never met anyone until one night I met the most beautiful woman in the world, and put my hand up her skirt and then never saw her again.

I drove south; it was cold and icy and it was a long drive. By a canal, I stood at the raised edge of a room with a sunken dance floor because my partner sat on a tall barstool. She was blonde and girlie skirt-wearing, I was not. We sat in the darkness and watched pretty young boys dance in the pit while old fat men eyed them and then called them over.

The ice has gone now, and I'm on an aeroplane. I'm in a city by the sea where everyone is everything and everything goes with everyone. I watch a drag-king and a woman with enormous cleavage play games with audience and sing (mime) cabaret, and know that never again will I be able to listen to Nancy Sinatra without a smile. Later, I meditate in a temple of some sort and afterwards I buy a girl a drink and get a blow-job under the pier. I make many friends but I can only stay briefly, the beer is expensive even during happy hour and everyone smokes cannabis all the time.

And a train now, and I'm in the biggest city yet, and I have to walk a long, noisy walk with an old friend, and although it is dark and late, the streets are alive with people and huge flags flutter from the buildings in the narrow alleys and the old, old squares. We drink in the best bars. One bar is snotty and unfriendly, but the clientele are attractive and stylish; the other is friendly and fun but the punters are older and less attractive yet I prefer this bar. One time some of these women took me and my friend and paid for our drinks and our taxi to a club, for our entry to the club, for our cloakroom and for all our drinks. In return, all we had to do was sit by her and chat, while a club full of middle-aged women, a club with green leather settees and old oak panelling, one of those clubs, you see, full of middle-aged women looked on at our host with green eyes of envy.

And I walk home and I know I'm there because I hang my hat and lay my phone and whatever else, and I think, that's enough for now, time for a holiday. And I sit in an oaky smoky pub and drink fine old ale.